


Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

by cosmotronic



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Edging, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Marking, Restraints, Smut, Spanking, Subby Cupcake Holtz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:12:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmotronic/pseuds/cosmotronic
Summary: They have played this game before, her and this other.She will break, in the end. But the game is to see just how long she can hold her bluff.





	Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Kinky smut time, a little heavier on the d/s than usual but you know me: it's still one hundred percent trusting, loving, consensual.

 

**First.**

She tries to stop, words tripping over her tongue but the momentum is too great and it just… comes out.

And she tries to cover the slip with more words, layers and layers thrown on top and for a second she thinks she’s got away with it. Perhaps the other didn't catch it. Perhaps it is of such low import that it will be left to lie, this time.

The other’s eyes narrow.

Uh.

The other’s head tilts.

“Holtzmann.”

Oh.

The cat, as they say, is well and truly out of the bag.

 

 

**After.**

When she wakes up, she is lying on her stomach. Arms stretched out in front of her, just enough to be uncomfortable but not to hurt. Head turned to one side, cheek pressed against rumpled linen.

She’s naked.

And she’s sore, but somehow it’s a good ache, her body radiant with satisfaction and relief. She’s sore _everywhere_ , each muscle singing their song of earlier strains and stresses.

The soft skin of her behind stings a little, warm glow with a hint of fire remaining. Bare skin against the humidity; she shivers unthinkingly, deliciously.

Her nipples pinched and worried as though by fingers and tongue and teeth, and a harsh warning when she shifts slightly on the material beneath her.

And a bruised reminder at her neck, the obvious outline of crescent teeth throbbing to her pulse.

The beats pound harder, throbbing at her centre when she _remembers_ , her nerves set on edge, her body re-living the pleasures of before. She squeezes her eyes shut, nonsense against the memory of sensation and the imagery in her head.

Her eyes open again slowly; she blinks. The room is dim, not dark, full of long shadows and dancing demons from the sparse flickering candles.

She can hear breathing somewhere behind her. Heavy breaths, a deep chest sucking in air, but it is measured; not a frenzied panting.

She suspects, but she can’t see.

There's metal; cool, cruel on her wrists, and the chain run between them to the heavy fixed ring tugs mockingly when she twists, tries to turn towards the other. Brings her up short, brings her to heel.

A huff of air behind her. Perhaps a laugh, wicked and nebulous. Perhaps a sigh, gentle and floating.

“E-Erin?”

Her voice is cracked, tongue thick and throat raw. She thinks she might have been screaming, earlier. She licks her lips, sandpaper over dry sting, tries again.

“Erin?”

The other responds, pitched low to match the atmosphere. A honed edge of familiarity adding a sharp and immediate edge to the dull, flat air of uncertainty.

“Jillian...”

Yes.

 

 

**Before.**

She’s cuffed, stripped body pulled long, ready and willing and waiting.

There’s a gap in the action and a hand resting on her bare behind, a gentle thumb brushing over the curve. A body and an ear leaning closer to catch the _no_ , the tiniest hint that she doesn’t want this, that she wants the other to _stop_.

She doesn’t want them to stop, doesn't want this to ever end. She can’t speak.

“Holtzmann.”

It’s flat from the other but there’s a slight inflection to the end of the word that turns it into a question.

She can’t _speak_ , teeth gritted and tongue tangled about her desperation so she articulates the best she can with a need-threaded moan and a bend of her body that pushes her back into the touch. It means _yes_.

It’s enough.

The hand is gone and she mourns the loss. The soft palm leaves her bereft and her skin tingles with the anticipation of a harsher return.

It doesn’t come quickly enough and she moans again, shapeless around a stem of _please_ and she hears a muttered admonishment, shakier than she expects and she knows her effect on the other is one of undoing.

Her teeth bare, lips pulled back in a grimace of pleasure. And although her gut clenches, as at the crest of a rollercoaster, she rides the momentum and opens her mouth.

“ _Yesss_ …”

The hand comes down.

Her body jerks. Away from it, _into_ it.

Her jaw drops, slack.

She groans, purposefully. Calling to danger, and the next impact is a little harder, a little more targeted, meeting skin tight over bone at the unmarked boundary of her ass and her back.

It hurts, hurts more than the previous sting but it’s like scratching at a bite; relief, but little to sooth before it drives her nerves to an ever more burning itch. She could stop it but she doesn’t and her lips and her tongue and her throat sound again, and again.

There’s a hiss from the other, snaking through the air to coil in her ear and she whimpers, a snatch of a name. And the hand comes down sharp again, and again.

Until her sounds become utterly formless, uncontrollable in the end. Until her flesh is hot and drawn across her buttocks and the tops of her thighs, and the fiery cracks become one and the sensations blur, individual strikes as impossible to reckon as shape to a flame.

Her whole body is a part of it, thrumming with arousal and sheer want and the small corner of her mind that regulates her checks and balances knows that tomorrow will be a succession of small agonies, but she _doesn't care_.

And then the other stops, abruptly, and she exhales a sob into the still.

A hand slows over the burning skin, one fingertip tracing the outline of five. Dips then, running along her cleft and lingering. She shivers at the thought of the other teasing her _there_ , pressing deeper and she almost, almost pushes back.

But the hand moves again, then, to where she is swollen and ready. Two fingers touch her, testing, barely brushing the flesh. She trembles, anticipation taut in every muscle. And she’s _wet_ , can feel it sticky on her thighs and almost shameful on the sheet beneath her.

There’s a small, satisfied hum and the hand slides away, drawing slick with it across her tortured skin, goosebumps following the trail, across curve and bony hollow until it ends.

“Holtzmann.”

The name is a command and the hand at her hip a directive. It’s a little awkward with her wrists restrained as they are but she shuffles her body, turns herself over and settles back into the sheets. The soft material is coarse on her ass, grit in a wound, and she winces just a little. It's enough for the other to catch the quirk of her mouth, the crinkle of her eye, the small escape of air and she knows she's made a mistake.

The hand comes down once more, on the meat of her thigh and it’s barely a feather-light caress compared to what came before, but she knows the intent and she buttons her lips and flutters her lids. The other releases a breath, heavy, tremulous, and nods.

Her legs are drawn apart after a moment, not roughly but firmly enough. Fingernails scrape down her inner thigh to tickle a light touch behind her knee that makes her breath burst in a brief stutter. The other knows her body like a familiar tracing, knows the areas that torture and tease, the spots that make her _weak_.

The fingers continue downwards, over bunched calf muscle and slender ankle bones. And then that tickling touch is dragged across the bottom of her foot and her nerves twitch and she jerks and the other moves fast as fury. Grabs her ankle hard enough to bruise the thin flesh and yanks her leg back into place.

She whines.

The other snarls.

It’s a reminder, stark against the lightness and the teasing and the metal clicks against her ankle and it is _loud_.

She stares at the other, long limbs and curves, beauty and sex and drawn in _red_ for her. Red lips slightly open, red hair tumbling forward to frame the red flush to her cheeks. Arousal darkening the red silk between her legs, but still the stance is strong and unashamed and knowing. Powerful.

She can feel the resistance flow from her, ebbing from her into the sheets beneath, into the very air about her, to be sucked into the other through pore and airway. The last of her power given freely and she presents it like a gift. Moves her other leg of her own accord, slowly, obviously into position.

A hummed approval and a second click, and they are ready.

The other wastes little time. Draws a finger back along that slim leg, back up over delicate bone and smooth skin to the heat at her centre. Presses that finger lightly to her clit, sensitive already.

Her vision goes white and the blood in her ears roars with a rhythmic thunder. She bends, her body held immobile but there is just enough play in the restraints for her to rock her hips down, push back against that single, simple touch.

The pressure doesn’t increase, rather the finger pulls away slightly, loses its precise focus to drag across her folds, her entrance. Dips a tip inside just barely, just for a second, just enough to show her but not to push her any further.

She tips her head back, tries to relax and ease the taut bow of her body. This will take some time.

They have played this game before, her and this other. She knows that the flit of contact is just the beginning. That if she chases a sensation the other will draw back, if she breathes a plea the touch will linger farther from where she needs it.

She will break, in the end. But the game is to see just how long she can hold her bluff.

And eventually, the other will turn their touch to devastation.

It’s okay.

They both just _need_ this from time to time.

Sometimes she will kneel before the other, on edge and waiting, waiting for the word and the permission to drop her face and earn her reward with lips and tongue. Sometimes she will scribe out her wishes with palms and fingers, and sometimes toys, and the other will write back with hands and songs of praise.

She is _good_ , for the other. Always.

But sometimes, times like this, she will _push_. Slip, err, annoy the other. Take her punishment on a plate and garnish it with bliss, the bitter bite turned sweet on her willing tongue.

The other greedy with desire of a different kind.

A sharp pinch on her clit brings her back. A sharp voice.

“Holtzmann.”

A flick, and she bites her lip and swallows a tiny cry.

A slow, lazy rub and she moans into the back of her teeth clamped so tightly, tight enough to tear the tender skin.

She tastes the blood and the makings of a scream, when the finger caressing her so delicately pushes deep inside her, quick and sudden to the knuckle.

She bends, and she bears down and she _pulls_ taut and the bindings about her ankles won’t give and the cuffs about her wrists bite, chafing skin and scraping metal, and the bed creaks.

There’s a little laugh, a simple snort of air accompanied by a smile, and then a soothing noise and her own breath breaks free loud and high in response.

“Ohhhhh… goddddd…”

It’s only one finger, and it’s nowhere near enough but it’s all she will get for now, this slow stroke gently in and out. Dragging against her inside and about her entrance, too careful and precise to be anything but a deliberate and calculated testing of her defenses.

She’s so wet, so ready. Needy body trying to pull at the other, to catch about that touch and take it deeper, to give her _more_.

The other must know, must be able to feel it. Must take note of her little cries and then wilfully ignore them, for what feels like forever.

Minutes feel like hours and nanoseconds all at once, sensation stretching and stacking until time and perception are just scrambled things in her mind, a mind now ruled by the pleasure and the _frustration_ between her legs.

And then, the present rushes to meet her like a prediction of danger wound about her consciousness, adrenaline and heartbeats.

One finger becomes two, and there’s hardly a stretch because she’s needed it for so long, but it’s enough to show her the edge, to show her where to jump and she dances along the cliff, daring, playing chicken with the danger as those two fingers move within her.

The other crooks forward, skilled and precise and dangerous, easy pressure pushing her perilously close to the precipice and she feels her stomach start to drop and her body start to lift. And then the pressure is _gone_ and she slams back into the earth, away from the cliff’s edge, away from that glorious moment of weightlessness and she sobs, frustration her entire world.

“P-lease.”

She wants to fall. She wants to _fly_.

“I need...”

To soar on the currents of pleasure and freedom and forget, forget, and _feel_.

“ _Erin_ …”

The fingers inside her start to move again, a slow slide in an echo of before and a tiny bump of a thumb against her clit, then a little more and a little more. She is surprised, her outbursts should have been punished but instead she senses a building urgency from the other, in the motions against her body, in the strained and hoarse whisper.

“ _Holtzmann_ …”

The other starts to fuck her then, with a purpose. Deep, firm thrusts that leave her breathless.

Her legs are trembling and her lungs are heaving and the other is leaning close, so close. She can feel the warmth of a flush near hers, hot breath blasted out over her chest in gasping pants that echo her own.

And then, a wet mouth on her breast, a growl against the curve and a tongue on the nipple flicking over and over and lips sucking, teeth grazing. She arches, welcomes the tiny pain. And when those teeth snap close and those fingers are at their deepest point and that thumb nudges her just so, she comes.

Hard. _Long_. The relief is agony in her nerves and the stars coming to their own little deaths behind her eyes.

And she sets herself to ease down gently on the canyon floor. But the other doesn’t stop and the ground opens up below and her freefall continues, faster, faster until her view is noisy nonsense and she’s coming again, on top of the first and she finally sets loose her lips and screams.

The other _doesn’t stop_.

Her body is twisting and pulling, fighting the restraints at ankle and wrist in a desperate attempt to buckle and bend about the centre of her pleasure. Looped chain pulled taut, testing the strength of the cuffs and the ring and her resolve.

Something _cracks_ , loud and audible between her cries and for a second the hand between her legs falters and her eyes fly to the other.

Their eyes meet, just for a moment and it’s the most intimate contact they’ve had since this began.

Something _breaks_ , depth of meaning behind the steely blue.

“ _H-holtz_ …”

“ _Erin_.”

Whispers with the weight of their everything.

And a weight on her, then, that long and lean body sinking to cover her splayed frame.

Smooth skin framing her own, sweat-touched. Lips that don’t leave her body, tongue and teeth painting pretty patterns of pain and pleasure on her torso, her collarbones, her throat. A knee between her legs, nudging. Pushing against the hand still pumping inside her, harder now there is more leverage.

The slight roughness of lace-banded silk on her thigh, and heat and wet soaking through. The other is brazen with arousal now, need shining through a thousand little cracks she knows she has created with the sheer force of her own want, and perhaps worked wider by something else, something deeper and more personal.

Something she dare not name.

Something the other groans into the corded muscle of her shoulder, an instant before the affirmation of teeth sinking home.

“ _Mine._ ”

A brand. A claim. A full body shudder over her own trembling form, fingers sinking to her limit and a warm burst against her thigh as the other marks her inside and out.

The orgasm hits her seconds after the other and it’s slower this time, rolling over her as though daring her to withdraw. She doesn’t let it go, she clings to it with nerve and voice and the clench of her body. She is still grasping at the last tendrils when the other pulls out and she cries out, the loss too sudden.

The weight is easing, shifting back and lifting and there’s a just a shaky hand remaining on her thigh, then that too is gone.

It is _all_ too sudden. Hurtful after the surprising closeness, and she licks her lips, croaks.

“E?”

She blinks at the other and the other stares back. Their eyes meeting once more, with warm blue ocean turning storm grey again as the flush of orgasm recedes and breaths turn to normal rhythm. It lasts forever, their stalemate, until finally something sets between them, solidifies into an empty space of sin and shame and the salt plains of unshed tears, and the other turns to leave.

“Erin? Please…”

A resolve gives and bare shoulders sink before the doorway, a hesitation that sets her soul to soar when the other moves back quickly, albeit with lashes lowered and gaze averted. The restraints about her ankles are quickly loosened and discarded with a clatter.

“Stay?”

The other runs a hand up her leg in an mirror of before, head shaking slowly, sadly. Echoes her own plea back, a weak last command.

“ _Stay._ ”

Then the other is gone and she is alone.

She closes her aching legs, winces as her bruised ass shifts against the cotton beneath. She rolls, the play in the chain at her wrists just allowing her to turn over and relieve the discomfort. She sinks her face into the pillow, sighs, closes her eyes for a time.

Erin will be back soon enough, apologetic and sweet. But the other will be gone, perhaps forever, a shadow form cast out beyond a boundary that has become too blurred.

But Erin will be here.

 

 

**Now.**

A soft kiss; she hears the unclicking of the cuffs on her wrists as a warm mouth presses on her cheek. A motion above her with a loosening of the restraints and a gentle thumb rubbing over the reddened marks beneath.

She draws her arms down, shoulders screaming, rolls over with a hope.

Another kiss, precious on her lips.

“Jillian.”

Erin is here, and the other is gone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was a thing. Hope you liked it ;)
> 
> I have a [tumblr](https://cosmotronic87.tumblr.com/), where I sit and twitch my curtains at the world.


End file.
